Love Through a Lens
by EmBeR3
Summary: Jessica is a down and out wannabe director living in New York. She's out of work, out of money and out of motivation when she gets an offer she can't refuse from Vince McMahon. The only problem is that she can't stand pro-wrestling or pro-wrestlers for
1. Love Through a Lens Part 1

***I've hoped to improve on my style with this one. I'm trying not just to tell a story but to use good language and stuff so hopefully it will work. Anyway, have a read and tell me what you think. It may seem slow at first but I really want to try to build up the scenario so stick with it! Oh, and please read and review if it's not too much trouble. Thanks :)***  
  
"That's $5 please," the woman at the checkout said, turning the palm of her hand upward and frowning as Jessica rummaged through her tiny purse.   
  
A middle-aged man wearing a flat cap with wisps of silver hair escaping from beneath it, who was next in line, muttered something about wasting time. Jessica ignored him, which was uncharacteristic of her. However, she was in no mood for a confrontation. The last thing she needed was a fine for assaulting the elderly. She could barely afford to feed herself at the moment.  
  
After a while she pulled out a dollar bill and a few coins, scattering them over the checkout triumphantly. The assistant scooped the money up silently and dropped it into the appropriate sections of the till in an almost robotic fashion. She closed the drawer...no change - what a surprise. Jessica picked up the half-empty brown paper bag containing a few carrots, a carton of milk and a loaf of bread and left the store.  
  
She stepped outside to discover that the mild springtime weather had become an April shower. Actually, more like an April torrential rainstorm. She stood under the canopy of the store for a moment, stuffing her purse into the handbag that was loosely hung over her right shoulder. The drone of the New York traffic was almost deafening, but for the first time she wished she were a part of it. Sitting in a stinky yellow cab, barely moving and trying to converse with an obnoxious driver - who turned his attention from the road every now and again to talk to her breasts - was looking pretty appealing compared to the thousands of shards of water now blowing into her face and dribbling over her smooth skin.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she clutched her groceries over her chest and started to jog down the pavement towards the subway. When she reached the entrance, her damp clothes clinging to her small frame, she literally skipped down the steps two or three at a time, anxious for shelter. She was surprised to find the subway almost deserted on the interior, considering the conditions on the city streets above. The only sign of life was an old tramp slumped on the floor asleep. Well, asleep or passed out from excess of alcohol and judging from the empty bottle that lay beside him, the latter was the case. She had slowed to a walk by this time and continued her journey down the lonely tunnel almost in autopilot.  
  
Suddenly, she felt an impact, another body colliding with her own. She felt as though every organ concealed beneath her skin had jumped, or rather been pushed, out of its place for a fraction of a second. Her feet slipped from beneath her and she landed with a thud against a cold stone wall. A large male figure extended his arm towards her, at first she thought to help. Much to her dismay and terror, he pinned her shoulders to the wall by wrapping his rough hand forcefully around her slender throat and snatching the handbag from her weak grasp. Immediately after this he released her and sped off into the distance.  
  
Jessica stood there, dazed, leant against the wall and completely motionless other than the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she took in lung-full after lung-full of the stale air, only to reject it again. When her shaking limbs finally allowed her to move, she knelt down to toss her scattered, now probably inedible, groceries back into their paper container. She felt tears begin to well inside her deep blue eyes but fought them back. She'd be damned if she was going to let that thieving f*cker get to her. She tried to comfort herself with the thought that he'd be gravely disappointed when he discovered the contents of her purse.  
  
When she finally reached her apartment, slamming the door behind her, she lobbed the groceries at the bare wooden floorboards, milk spattering everywhere, and let herself collapse onto the sofa. What a sh*tty day. When she'd come to New York she'd hoped to have her work noticed, maybe even become a big Hollywood director. This was the city of dreams after all, or so she'd heard. But instead she was stuck making second rate real-life documentaries on the antics of New York teenagers, which only ever aired on local TV and even offers for these were becoming few and far between - hence the current lack of funds. If she had to follow one more gang of adolescents around, video camera in hand, whilst they spray-painted their names on cars in the early hours of the morning, she was going to kill somebody - probably the owner of the vehicle, who usually emerged from a nearby house to accuse her of being irresponsible and dishonest for 'letting this happen'.  
  
She reached over the arm of the sofa and banged the button on her answer machine with her fist. She had one new message, the first in weeks! She sat up in her seat, every nerve of her body quivering with hope, anticipation of this potential job offer. A deep masculine voice began to speak.  
  
"This is Vince McMahon calling from World Wrestling Entertainment for Jessica Roberts. We've seen some of your work and we would like to discuss the prospect of you directing a video profile for one of out employees. You can call me on..."  
  
Jessica scribbled down the number on a notepad by the phone. Wrestling? She's never been much of a fan - quite the opposite in fact. But it was an offer and an offer that she was in no position to refuse. 


	2. Love Through a Lens Part 2

After several attempts at trying to get hold of the apparently extremely busy Mr. McMahon, Jessica finally managed to convince the receptionist that she wasn't some crazed fan.   
  
"One moment please, I'll put you through to his office..."  
  
The phone began to ring again and was answered by a fairly high-pitched voice.   
  
"Good morning, Vincent K McMahon's office, how may I help you?" The woman's tone was a strange combination of mock pleasantry and an unmasked lack of enthusiasm, as if to say 'thanks for calling but I wish you hadn't'.  
  
Jessica decided that, unless Mr McMahon was wearing very tight pants that day, this was another one of those damn secretaries. What the hell did they think she was going to do? Strangle him over the telephone?!  
  
"Hi, I'm calling for Mr. McMahon. He left a message on my machine..." Jessica began.  
  
"I'm afraid Mr. McMahon is in a meeting at the moment. What is it that you're calling about?" the voice interrupted. In a meeting? Yeah, she'd heard that one before - "Mr. Cameron is at a press conference. Send us some of your work and I'm sure he'll take a look at it and give you a few pointers." Yeah sure. James Cameron, director of Titanic, was going to take a look at her video tape. That's why it reappeared in her mailbox unopened the following week. As far as Jessica was concerned 'being in a meeting' meant a guy was sat on his ass signing a few papers.  
  
"It's Jessica Roberts, he asked me about making a video for one of his employees."  
  
"Oh yes, he's been expecting your call. I'll put you through to his cell phone." the woman said in a somewhat more cheerful manner.  
  
Ringing again...and ringing...and ringing...and ringing....  
  
"Yes?" This time a male voice responded to her call.  
  
Jessica paused for a moment. She had half expected to be confronted with yet another of the businessman's telephone bodyguards. So this was the infamous Vince McMahon. The guy who paid over-developed muscle-bags without a brain cell between them to throw each other around in tights with sweat socks strategically positioned beneath their costumes to 'enhance' certain areas. What an honour.  
  
"Hi, this is Jessica Roberts. You called me about making a video for you," she explained.  
  
There was silence for a few seconds, besides a faint sound of his breathing on the other end of the line, backed up by the echoing of men's voices shouting to one another.   
  
"Ah, yes! Of course. Sorry about that, I have so damn much on my mind...." he mumbled as though he was talking to himself rather than her. "Well I saw one of your documentaries. Something about youths in New York. I liked the style so I want to offer you the opportunity to produce an in-depth documentary about one of our biggest stars. The pay will be quite substantial, needless to say, but we'll talk about that later. I'm assuming you're a fan?"  
  
Jessica could sense her heart beating that little bit harder, that little bit faster and hoped he couldn't. She had two choices - tell the truth, lose the job and continue living this pathetic lifestyle, or pose as a dedicated WWE fan, get the job, get the money, get noticed, get the hell out of there. Without hesitation or conscience she selected the dishonest option.  
  
"Of course. I love the WWE!" she replied so convincingly that she impressed even herself, which wasn't an easy task by any means.  
  
"Ah...good," he said in such a voice that she could almost picture his smile. Not that she knew what he looked like. "Well, I'm next in New York in 3 days time. I can talk to you any time between 9 and 11am on Wednesday. We have a small office used for conferences behind the scenes in The World...is that ok?"  
  
"Yeah that'd be fine. Thanks very much, Mr. McMahon. Ok, goodbye!"  
  
Jessica put the phone down and slumped downwards in her seat. So she had 3 days to know everything there is to know about World Wrestling Entertainment. Finally all those nights of tagging along with teenage gangs were going to pay off! She knew just the guy to ask. 


End file.
